


By Any Other Name

by Dorasolo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, hockey mishaps, roommate bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorasolo/pseuds/Dorasolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-comic, Shitty and Jack's freshman year. B. Knight receives a new name and a new upper lip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

Freshman year, Day 10, Hockey Practice 2, 6:27PM

The medicinal smell of the ER would be nauseating but Bernard Bryan Knight takes little notice of the sterile, purified lemons. Not because he chooses not to, but because he can’t. The ice pack he has pressed to his face is numbing everything from the bridge to his nose to his chin, and he is grateful, because he is a little too squeamish to find the exact origin of the blood pooling in the towel. 

“Dot coe Bo,” he groaned, trying to glare at his roommate of ten days, Jack Zimmermann, the wielder of the errant puck that had most likely but not officially broken Bernard’s face. Bernard, who definitely does not want to be called Bernard (it's his cockstain of a father's name) and usually goes by Bryan, takes a moment to reflect and changes his mind. It is entirely more likely that his face was the errant one in the whole mess, probably being where it shouldn’t have been, namely, in front of Jack’s puck. 

Bryan has no idea why he hasn’t told anybody to stop calling him Bernard, but can’t move his mouth to do so now, when there’s blood and a towel and, when he focuses completely on it, pain. 

“You didn’t hit your head when you fell, did you? Who’s Bo?” Bryan peers up at his roommate over the soggy towel. His roommate who is radiating guilt and worry like he’s a heat lamp, and Bryan sort of feels terrible for the guy. This is _Jack Zimmerman_ , man, he’s been through _so much_ , and Bryan just has, like, optimistically, a bloody nose. 

“I think he means, ‘not cool, bro,’” John Johnson translates, concerned, “Should we be worried about a concussion?”

“Sure, yes, I hit him with a puck, so it’s gonna end badly,” Jack rubs his eyes for a second, radiating guilt, and then peers at Bryan. “How are you feeling, Bernard?”

“Dot too good, Bo.” 

Johnson frowns, this time at the blood stained towel. “I hope it’s not your nose, bro. You’ve got good nose.” 

Bryan nods emphatically, and groans again, this time from about 85% pain and 15% sadness because he does have good nose.

A doctor comes into the waiting room and calls Bryan's name (Bernard), and his teammates escort him to the triage room. 

An hour later, Bryan is home in his dorm room. He has three stitches directly on the left corner of his upper lip that he 100% hates, but he 100% likes the offhand advice from the doctor to grow a mustache and “be a real hockey player.” Bryan figures that he can totally do that McConaughey-in-Dazed-and-Confused look because his hair is already perfect, and sets a reminder on his phone to cut the sleeves off his t-shirts as soon as possible. It is his new firm belief that like pants, sleeves are totally bullshit.

His father will hate all of it, and that is a huge bonus. He nods at himself in the mirror, imagining his soon-to-be-mustachioed brilliance. With a satisfied sigh, he takes off his sweatpants and makes himself at home at the foot of Jack’s bed in just his boxer shorts. 

Jack’s bed has much better TV viewing opportunities, though Jack clearly has no idea this is true, and seems more than a bit startled by a pantsless Bryan hopping into his bed.

“You ok, Bernard?”

He is not sure the question is about his sudden loss of pants, his sudden appearance at the foot of the bed, or if it’s because of his grossly swollen top lip. The anesthesia and numbness has finally faded enough to talk properly and Bryan figures it’s time to bite the bullet with Jack if they’re going to live together and hockey together. 

“Look, bro, you can call me anything but Bernard. My dad calls me Bernard. It is not cool. My friends in high school called me Bryan, my middle name, or just ‘B.’ B is even what my mom calls me. But yeah really, anything but Bernard.”

“Anything?” Jack asks, innocently, thoughtful. Uncomfortably thoughtful, in retrospect. 

“Anything,” Bryan agrees, sincerely, though he wonders why he is agreeing to such preposterous proposition without even the slightest hint of percocet to cloud his judgment. 

“How ‘bout ‘Shitty?’ As in, ‘man you have shitty luck for only being here a week.’” 

A pause. A head tilt. “Yeah ok,” Shitty agrees, trying it out for size in his head, and thus forward, he is Shitty.

He doesn’t mind.


End file.
